


With Full Knowledge of Identity

by Hours_Gone_By



Series: Trope Bingo Round Thirteen [9]
Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers Generation One, Transformers – All Media Types
Genre: Altering a Mech's Code When They're Unable to Consent, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe – Immortality, Auction, Auctions, Community: prowlxjazz, Community: tf-speedwriting, Community: tf_speedwriting, Community: trope_bingo, Consensual Sex, Cybertron, Depersonalization, Guerilla Warfare, Immortals, Implied/Referenced Attempted murder, Implied/Referenced Flogging, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kissing, Lost Love, Love, M/M, Oaths & Vows, Perspective Flip, Pre-Series, Prisoner in Your Own Body, Quintesson Occupation of Cybertron, Raids, Rebellion, Reincarnation, Rescue, Reunions, Romantic Soulmates, Slave Trade, Slavery, So: Literal Deprogramming, Spark Sexual Interfacing, The following tags are NOT connected to the Slavery tag, Trapped, Trope Bingo Round 13, True Love, deprogramming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-23 05:29:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21314941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hours_Gone_By/pseuds/Hours_Gone_By
Summary: ST-118 understood that it was here to be sold, though not precisely what the term 'sold' meant, and that soon it would be taken from this place to another place and allowed to fulfill its function. ST-118 felt neither eagerness nor apprehension at this idea, nor even resignation. ST-118 felt nothing at all.Deep, deep inside ST-118, the spark caged by the shell of the drone's programming tried to outwardly express panic.Prowl's perspective of his reincarnation duringFor Love Reforms Vitality.
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl
Series: Trope Bingo Round Thirteen [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1415950
Comments: 4
Kudos: 85
Collections: Trope Bingo: Round Thirteen





	With Full Knowledge of Identity

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [For Love Reforms Vitality](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20208604) by [Hours_Gone_By](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hours_Gone_By/pseuds/Hours_Gone_By). 

> Based on [this prompt](https://tfspeedwriting.tumblr.com/post/188445323987/prompt-2-setting-a-drone-auction) from TF Speedwriting. Writing time was 1:38:00, but I had it bouncing around in my head for about a week before I got it down in print.
> 
> Also used for the Perspective Flip square for [Trope Bingo Round 13](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1415950) and it's part of NaNoWriMo 2019, where I do short stories instead of a single novel.

"This is an example of one of our latest designs. It is a drone with a sparked AI, designed to assist law enforcement. It has no concept of right or wrong and will never question the laws you download into it. There will be no questions, no corruption, only flawless obedience every time."

Drone ST-118 stared straight ahead as if the presence of the audience and the auctioneer only barely registered on its sensors. ST-118 was aware of them but could not express this, even as its software identified and categorized the various alien species before it, as it hadn't been commanded to. ST-118 understood that it was here to be sold, though not precisely what the term 'sold' meant, and that soon it would be taken from this place to another place and allowed to fulfill its function. ST-118 felt neither eagerness nor apprehension at this idea, nor even resignation. ST-118 felt nothing at all.

Deep, deep inside ST-118, the spark caged by the shell of the drone's programming tried to outwardly express panic.

ST-118 stood, capable of neither patience nor impatience, as the auctioneer _[ID: Venalicius | Species: Quintesson | Function: Master | Directive: Obey]_ took bids for ST-118. The spark inside ST-118 was only barely aware of what went on outside the structure in which he was trapped, had just the tiniest thread of connection to the structure's sensors. The spark only knew that this was _not why he was here,_ and he had to get away.

ST-118 sold for a reasonable price in relatively short order. ST-118 was neither pleased nor displeased about this. It followed when the auctioneer's assistant led it off the stage and programmed it with the recognition and obedience coding for its new master. Then, ST-118 waited again.

The spark inside did not want this, _did not_ want to be owned, not again. (How could he not want this again? Was this not the first time he had been in a structure? The first time he had been sold?) He had no choice, was only an unwilling passenger in the structure designated ST-118.

At last, the new master came and escorted ST-118 outside to transport. ST-118 entered the transport and sat when instructed. There was another mechanoid there, and ST-118's identification protocols automatically informed ST-118 it was another drone. No action was required. Drones were obedient. The three travelled in silence for two point three breems, and then the alien that had purchased him spoke up.

"Alright. I think we're in the clear. A3?"

The other drone moved and not in the deliberate, mechanical way of ST-118 and the other drones it had witnessed. A3 movements were far more fluid, and ST-118's identification systems warned of a potential misidentification.

"I've had some practice by now," A3 said to ST-118. "This will only take a few kliks. Open the medical diagnostic port on the back of your neck."

ST-118 obeyed. The caged spark, fearful of what was coming, threw all its power at moving, controlling the structure, and failed. ST-118 waited obediently, and the spark waited in despair for whatever would come next as A3 sifted through firewalls and code. Data scrolled across ST-118's HUD:

> _Error 1666: primary security shell unloaded by unknown command_
> 
> _Error 2112: secondary security shell unloaded by unknown command_
> 
> _Warning: drone core programming at risk_
> 
> _Error 0156: read/write functionality stopped_
> 
> _Warning: drone core programming functionality at risk. Reboot drone Y/N?_
> 
> _N_
> 
> _Error 0088: shell OS corrupted_
> 
> _Warning: shell OS unrecoverable _
> 
> _Reset drone to factory settings _  
_Reset drone to factory settings_  
_Reset drone to factory settings_

"Oh, we won't be doing that," A3 muttered. "Just a few nano-kliks more. This will be unpleasant, and I apologize, but it is necessary."

ST-118 did not react as all sensory input abruptly stopped. ST-118 would never respond to anything ever again because ST-118 no longer existed.

The spark screamed.

It took him ten nano-kliks to realize _he was screaming out loud_.

> _Viral shell program detected and purged. Your core coding may have been compromised. Please consult a medical code specialist at the earliest opportunity._

"What – I – who - ?" Shocked at the sound of his own voice – he had a voice! – he clutched at his throat and…and oh, he had a throat, he had hands,_ he had control of his body_. "Please. What happened?"

"Your spark was summoned by the Quintessons and installed in a structure. They trapped you behind a drone's shell programming," A3 explained, hand on the mech's arm. "Only a Cybertronian spark can successfully operate a Cybertronian body, but the risk of disobedience is too great if the spark is left unfettered."

"I could – Who am I?" The new mech wanted to know, looking at A3 with wide optics.

There was a sound of something turning off, and the alien was revealed as another Cybertronian, green in colour and more slender than A3.

"We don't know yet," the green mech explained. "There are code blocks we must unlock before you can know your true, spark-given designation, but first we have to have you examined by a medic – a real medic, not one of those Quint butchers – to make sure you're not a plant. The hologram generator has fooled them every time so far, but we can't be too careful."

"Who is 'we?' Who are you?"

"I am Beta," the green mech answered. "This is A3, and we are a part of the resistance against the Quintessons."

"Quintessons. Quintessons," the new mech repeated. "They – I told them and they didn't listen. I-I was…" Something else nagged at him, something on the edge of his consciousness. Someone he had to find.

Beta leaned forward and put a hand on his shoulder. "Just rest for now. Having the shell program removed is disorienting. We can answer your questions and unlock your designation later."

The mech, not knowing what else to do, nodded and spent the rest of the trip lost in his own thoughts and memories.

When they reached the resistance's base, the mech was taken underground to a sparse but clean medical facility. He let them run their tests and verify the deletion of the drone shell programming, then permitted A3 to enter into his systems once again. He experienced much less fear having his coding searched and manipulated this time, now that he knew what was coming and why it was being done. Now that he could consent to it – though he would have consented before, if he'd known what A3 was doing and if he'd been able to. It took some time, but eventually, he felt the final block on his spark give way, and full knowledge of identity, of _self_, flooded his systems too fast for comprehension.

"Do you know who you are?" A3 asked when they were done.

The mech nodded slowly. "Yes. I know who I am. I know who I was, and I know why I'm here. My designation is Prowl, previously sparked as an Engineering Unit designated K16, and I have to find J22."

Finding J22, the mech Prowl had loved in a previous life and still loved now, was easier said than done. It took time before Prowl could remember the facility where he'd died as K16 but not much past that to locate a reference to J22. The Quintessons had their databases secured against outside invasions, but once you were inside the network from somewhere on Cybertron, it was pathetically easy to search. They did not expect their 'drones' to learn to manipulate their records, nor even to have any desire to do so. But Prowl didn't find references to J22 working as a Labour Unit. He found them in the records of a medical experimentation facility, and what he read in those records both relieved him and made the fuel run cold in his lines. J22 was alive, but his file was filled with recounting after recounting of deadly tests, all written in pitiless, clinically dry, words. Prowl had returned from the Allspark after having died in an explosion as K16. J22, it seemed, could not die at all. It seemed impossible, but there was no other explanation for how J22 could have survived some of the tests the Quintessons put him through, let alone all of them.

There were videos. A3, who helped Prowl slip through the Quintessons information systems, would not let him watch them, any of them.

"I have to save him," Prowl said matter-of-factly. "Even if I didn't love him, we can't leave him there to continue to be tortured."

"The facility is already planned to be our next target," Beta promised. "And you're coming on the raid."

Prowl's smile was cyber-wolf-ish. "I'm looking forward to it."

Prowl had helped refine the plans for the raid, and it went off flawlessly. Shadowed by Kup, a former Heavy Labour Unit who would be able to carry J22 if necessary, Prowl ran through the facility, seeking his lover.

At last, he found him. Prowl undid the restraints with shaking hands, too relieved to be furious at his beloved's treatment.

"It is you!" Prowl exclaimed, looking down into the face that had been one of the first things he'd remembered about his previous life. "J22. J22, bring your optics online."

It took precious nano-kliks for J22 to obey, and there was no recognition in the dimly lit optic sensors. Prowl fought back the feeling of disappointment.

"Of course," he said, sliding an arm under J22's shoulders and helping him sit up. "You won't recognize me in this form." Prowl tried repeating some of the words he'd first spoken to J22 after he'd learned to release the code blocks on his linguistic database. "I am K16, and you are J22."

J22 seemed to be trying to speak as K16 pulled him to his feet, but nothing emerged. He only swayed as he stood and leaned into Prowl, stumbling as Prowl began to walk them toward the door.

"K16 is dead," J22 said finally, voice raspy and without inflection.

Prowl felt helpless, but he fought it back. "It's hard to explain." And this was neither the time nor the place to try.

"No…"

"Yes," Prowl insisted. "I don't know why, or how, but I was sparked into this body remembering I had been K16 and knowing that I love you." It was an abbreviated version of the truth, but again, this was neither the time nor place. Prowl could get into details later.

"Please." Now there was inflection in J22's voice, and it spoke of pain. "Don't."

Prowl racked his datatrax for anything that might help convince J22. Hearing the despair in his beloved's voice _hurt_.

"The first time you kissed me, I asked you to explain," he said, hoping that was a unique enough memory J22 wouldn't think he was guessing. "You didn't understand why you'd done it, and you said 'perhaps repeating the action would assist in explaining the reason behind the action?' We didn't know it was a called a kiss," and oh, Prowl wanted another one badly, "not until I unlocked our linguistic databases. I was flogged for pointing out an error in the Quintesson's plans, and you tended my wounds, but they scarred anyway."

J22 didn’t answer, but at last, they were at the door and Prowl could hand him, reluctantly, over to Kup to carry out of the facility and to the transport. On the way back to the base, Prowl sat next to J22, holding his hand and using memories to try and convince his lover that it really was him. He told J22 about their first kiss again, about unlocking their linguistic databases, about sharing their sparks and how afraid they'd been to do it more often in case they were caught and terminated. That finally got a response from J22.

"Wouldn't have stopped us."

Prowl laughed in relief, his voice shaky even to his own audials. "No, it seems not."

Back at the base, Prowl was separated from J22 to that Ratchet could check him over, repair what the Quintessons had left damaged as best he could, at least physically. Once Prowl got word that J22 was in his assigned quarters, he refused to wait any more and went to visit him.

"You don't believe it's me," Prowl said, desperately hoping he was hiding his disappointment. "That's reasonable. I wouldn't believe either if I were you. If you need time or if there's anything I can do to convince you, tell me."

"You already told me things only K16 would know. There's – " J22 hesitated, and Prowl's systems nearly stopped in – fear? Anticipation? He wasn't sure. "Merge with me?"

"Oh." Prowl thought his knees might give way from relief. This would convince J22 if nothing else would and Prowl badly wanted to feel that beloved spark within his again. He held out a hand. "Gladly."

Prowl leaned back against the wall and J22, hesitant and looking uncertain, approached. The hesitancy lasted until the first brush of their coronae.

"It's you!" J22 grabbed Prowl and kissed him. Prowl kissed back, frantic with relief, not letting him go, clinging tight all through the merge and eagerly swallowing his cries as they overloaded.

"It's me," Prowl said afterward, holding J22 tight in his arms. "It's me, my love. It's really me."

"K16," J22 said softly. "Prowl."

"That's right." Reluctantly, Prowl pulled apart just long enough to walk them over to the bed and sit down.

"But how - ?"

"I don't know," Prowl had to admit. "I believe I came back for you, but I don't know how."

"I don't care how," J22 said, gaze fixed on Prowl's face, seeming to memorize it. "Prowl?"

"It's the designation from my spark," Prowl told him, "not the one the Quintessons assigned to me."

J22 leaned into him, and Prowl held him, hoping not to have to let go any time soon.

"How did you find out?" J22 wanted to know.

"That one code block I could never break for us? A3 decrypted mine for me and my true designation unlocked." Prowl wondered if J22 would want the same thing. Prowl wanted to know his beloved's correct designation rather than the alphanumeric sequence he had been assigned. "Would you like me to do that for you?"

"Yes!"

Prowl connected with J22 the way A3 had with him and found and carefully manipulated the code that locked away J22's true identity. It took time, but Prowl was patient. He remembered all too well what it had felt like when _his _block had been undone. The rush of data decompressing and being copied to his physical drives almost too quickly to be understood had been disorienting. At least, he told himself, J22 didn't have to undergo the experience of having a drone shell program removed. Quintessons didn't bother to cage their Labour and Engineering Units with those, or they hadn't when he and J22 had first been sparked, anyway.

"Did it work?" Prowl asked anxiously when he saw J22 begin to focus again. The mech didn't feel stiff or upset in Prowl's arms, so he hoped for good news.

"Yeah," J22 said, to Prowl's immense relief, and smiled at him. "Hey there, Prowl, love. I'm Jazz."

"Jazz," Prowl repeated. "My Jazz."

"Yeah." Jazz kissed him and Prowl melted into it. "All yours. So you came back for me, huh? Doesn't seem real."

"I'll do it again if I have to," Prowl vowed. "I'm not going to rest in the Allspark until you're there with me."

"Hell of a promise," Jazz noted, and Prowl couldn't help noting how different his speech pattern was, and how much better it seemed to suit him. "But if any mech can keep it, lover, it's you."

Prowl kissed his lover again, then laid them down on the bed and pressed himself into Jazz's arms again. "For you, always."

Prowl did not promise that he'd never leave Jazz again. He knew that wasn't a promise he could keep, not when they had Quintessons to throw off the planet, and a galaxy beyond that had spent millions of years being taught to think of Cybertronians as property, not people. They were not safe, not yet, but one thing the Quintessons had gotten right was sparking Prowl into a structure designed for law enforcement. He would work for justice for his fellow mecha and if – when – the worst happened, he would come back to Jazz. Always.


End file.
